


Bird's Eye View

by optimise



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Angst, Bittersweet, Divorce, F/M, I'm Sorry, Lots of Angst, Married Couple, POV Scorpius Malfoy, Relationship Problems, also there is a lil scorbus because i love them with eighty percent of my heart, i'm also trash at tags you see, i'm trash, scorpius is hermione and draco's son though, this is actually really sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 13:43:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9237584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/optimise/pseuds/optimise
Summary: Acceptance. That's all Scorpius needed to finally receive the comfort he desperately longed for during the ups and downs of his parents' relationship. one-shot.





	

_They are so in love_ , he remembers Uncle Harry saying while shaking his head at one of Scorpius' birthday parties. His parents were kissing the cake off each other's noses. 

Yeah, they were. Past tense.

And Scorpius remembered just how it became that way.

—

Scorpius would hear little things about them, like how they used to absolutely despise each other back in the day. Because apparently the-never-talked-about War changed more things than _just_ the society he lived in today. Relationships were changed. Love was forged between two enemies. That much was clear.

Of course, he'd watch them be in love as well — totally and completely captivated by the other person at all times of the day. Engulfed with each other's warmth like moths to light. They were in love. Anyone with two eyes and half a brain could make that connection.

He was five when he first noticed.

His mother had dragged him off to one of his father's fancy work parties, slipping him in proper grey trousers to match his eyes and styling his hair just perfect. At Scorpius' insistence, him and his father wore the same colour tie — scarlet red; the colour of a pretty girl blushing, his father would say. And that's exactly what his mother did when his father picked Scorpius up, swung him around in giggles, and languidly kissed his wife while declaring his love for the both of them.

That's how it was for the rest of the night, he noticed. The way his father would be sipping strawberry champagne and chatting amicably with coworkers but be grinning widely at his mother across the room. She'd tuck her hair behind her ear and smile shyly back.

It was perfect, Scorpius remembered thinking.

Their family. Perfect.

—

He was seven when he heard them argue for the first time. Ever. He remembered how they had two rules — no arguing in front of others and no going to bed mad at each other. The former rule was to prevent pettiness. And the latter was to acknowledge that the bedroom was for love.

That's all. Their marriage had a simple rulebook, that was broken eight years into their matrimony.

Scorpius had snuck into the foyer outside his parent's shared study, intent on pleading with one of them to let him stay in their room that night because it was pouring heavily and the sound of thunder itched at his skin uncomfortably.

Just as he was about to push open the tall and daunting doors, the sound of talking stopped him. So he waited. And listened. Eagerly.

"I — I just can't keep doing this, Draco," his mother had cried out. He imagined her to be running her hands through her hair, just like she always did when she was a bit stressed in the morning about timeliness. "I can't keep pretending like it's okay to feel ugly in my skin _every single time_ we visit your parents."

"My mother likes when we visit."

" _No_ — she likes when you and your son visit."

"Our son."

A burst of laughter came from his mother's lips. "He's clearly _your_ son to her, though. He looks like you, so she'll ignore the little conundrum about his blood. He has your last name. He—"

His father swiftly cut her off, "He's _our_ son. Not mine. Not yours. Ours. And if the last name thing bothers you so much, we can change it."

An exasperated sigh and a long moment of silence. "It's not about the name. It's about me feeling like shit every time I try to expose Scorpius to his grandparents."

"Tell me what to do, Granger. Tell me what to do, and I'll do it. I'll fix it for us. I promise."

"I — I just need some time alone right now, okay?"

A beat of terse silence fell over his parent's study.

"Are you coming to bed soon, then?"

His mother's voice choked up. "Maybe."

"Hermione. . ."

" _Please_. I need to be alone." Her voice was like the crunching of autumn leaves underneath his feet — barely holding on to any sense of life.

There was an extremely harsh and deafening silence moment of quiet falling over the room, extending till it wrapped around the corridors of their house. All that made sound was the pitter patter of rain on the roof and the heavy breathing of Scorpius against the wall.

"I love you. You know that right, Granger?"

"I know." Her voice sounded muffled this time, as if she was hugging his father.

—

He's nine (almost ten, he swears) and itching at the collar of his shirt popping out of his woollen jumper. Sometimes, being fashionable was uncomfortable.

"Why isn't Mum coming with us, again?" Scorpius whined, dragging his feet along the gravel ground up to Malfoy Manor.

"She's not feeling well, Scorp," his dad merely replied coolly, ruffling his blond hair and leaving Scorpius to fix his locks with a glare.

"Did you give her medicine?"

"Of course." His father smirked. "What else did you expect from me?"

"Hopefully, you didn't try to eat her face again. She doesn't like it very much, I think." Scorpius shook his head in disapproval.

" _Hey_ — one day, when you're snogging your loved one, we'll see who gets grossed out."

Scorpius wrinkled his nose in distaste. He would never kiss like his parents did. Yuck.

When they finally made it to the doors, Scorpius eagerly nodded, waiting for his grandmother to pop her head out and offer him sweets and biscuits like always.

They did, and Scorpius grinned with excitement.

His grandmother scoped around the door, "Where's Miss Granger?"

"My _wife_ is not feeling very well," his father curtly added. "She's at home."

"Good riddance," Scorpius' grandmother said, turning quickly to greet Scorpius with a beam on his face.

"Are you still living in that terribly small house, darling?" the matriarch continued to prod, leading the two of them to the drawing room. "It's tragic that _your wife_ made you reside there when you could've easily fit here."

"Yes, we are. And we like the privacy," his father defended, sitting stiffly on one of the couches and patting the seat beside him for Scorpius to join. "It's certainly easier to get someone's attention without having to ask an elf if their parents are coming down for breakfast or not."

"Also, much easier to pretend as though you're happy, isn't it, Draco?" Scorpius glanced between the two people while slowly chewing on the vanilla biscuit.

"I don't have to _pretend_." His dad sneered and wrapped an arm around Scorpius' shoulders, drawing him in closer, protecting him from the caving-in world. "I'm very much happy. Thanks for the concern, though. You and Father were always a great inquirer of my well-being, Mother."

—

He's twelve and sucking on a green apple sugar quill the night before September 1st, listening to the argument on how his father couldn't drop him to King's Cross because of an urgent meeting in the Ministry.

"I — I just can't believe you would ever accuse me of that, Granger!" his father boomed through the hall. "I would never do that you. I would never do that to Scorpius. You're my love. He's my son. You _know_ that."

Scorpius finished packing his dragon-hide Quidditch gloves.

"What am I supposed to think, Draco? You're never here."

And he finished folding his trousers.

"I'm always here. Remember what I told you? Years ago?"

 _Finally_ , he finished pressing his button-up shirts.

"That you would always be in my heart. No matter where you were in the world."

He even had time to pack his favourite stuffed toy, just for safe keeping.

"What happened to keeping me there?"

A plethora of extra books wouldn't hurt so much, he thought while adding some more research material.

"It's hard to hold you in there when all I feel is that part of me broken."

Scorpius slammed the trunk shut.

—

He's thirteen, rolling out his the bubbles of air in wrists and rolling his ankles. Trying to get all the tension that sunk down to his bones. It'd been hard — watching his mother grip the kitchenware with a little more force than necessary as the grandfather clock in their dining room ticked by. And when the hour arm finally made it to nine PM, she gave a wry smile, told Scorpius to eat before he started vacuuming up the fridge with his bear-like teenage boy hunger, and sucked on her own glass of lemonade for the next hour.

They were supposed to wait until his father came home at eight, but that never happened.

His mother probably waved it off as the problems of his new job. Just like she waved off everything else wrong with their relationship.

His father didn't end up coming home till eleven PM, instantly offering up every excuse about how sorry he was and how he would try to make things better. Scorpius set a charm to eavesdrop on their conversation before snuggling under his blanket to play with colours of light off the tip of his wand.

 _Red_ meant the love they had. And _blue_ meant the desperation they shared. _Pink_ meant the colour of the flowers his father bought for his mother. And _white_ mean the colour of his mother's smile when he apologised. _Yellow_ meant the colour of his father's favourite frock on his mother. And _purple_ meant the colour of his mother's favourite handkerchief for his father. And maybe if Scorpius could focus in on the tiny sparks of light, he would ignore the sinking feeling when their yelling match in the foyer just became an eery silence seeping through the walls.

Minutes later, he heard his creaky door open wide and he heard the tiny footsteps of his mother patter till she slipped into the bed beside him. Scorpius turned over, glancing at her puffy eyes and sniffling nose.

"Mum?" he voiced quietly. It was pointless pretending not to notice how upset she was.

"Yes, love?"

"Why do you and dad fight so much?"

She stayed silent for a while, pulling Scorpius' already lanky and bigger body than hers close to hug.

"It's really hard feeling yourself get hurt by the same things that you fell in love with someone for."

"I don't want you to be hurt," he whispered.

A small, choked laugh. "Neither do I."

—

He's fifteen and incessantly tapping his foot in the Slytherin dorms as he scanned through the Owl he just received. He can't help but imagine if his own father used to do the same thing years ago when he received Owls from his mother during his sixth year. It's a morbid thought — but he held onto it nonetheless.

_Scorpius,_

_I miss you. So much, darling._

_I was wondering if you could stay at Hogwarts this Christmas. Your father isn't very happy with his parents at the moment, so he's not in the best mood. I wouldn't want him to lash out at you. Please ask Albus if he could stay as well? I know you need a friend like him._

_Also, tell me how you're OWL year is going. Are the study planners I sent you helping? I hope so._

_I love you,_

_Mum_

Scorpius crumpled the note, grabbing his broom and slipping into his cloak before heading out to grapple against the windy air on the pitch.

When he made it to the Slytherin Common Room, he cuffed Albus affectionately, asking him to come play a bit of pick-up Quidditch because Scorpius was  _so_ eternally bored. His friend complied.

And while he waited for Albus to get ready, he tossed the note in the fire, watching the ashes of the parchment ignite the flames with a burning desire.

—

He's sixteen and clenching his fists around a bottle of firewhiskey he swiped from his father's liquor cabinet, praying his drunk self wouldn't fall off the roof and cause another argument between his parents. He'd just discovered the taste of alcohol — and its effects; the mind-numbing sensation — and he _loved_ it.

"And?" Albus prompted, knocking knees on the roof.

"And what?" Scorpius took another drink, offering some to his best friend, but the dark-haired boy merely wrinkled his nose and shook his head.

"And that's all?"

"Yeah, I said that's all. They're getting divorced. 'Bout time, isn't it?" Scorpius laughed sardonically, breathing until he could see the puff of dank air cloud around his face. "All they've been doing is fighting for the past two years."

They're silent for a while.

"How do _you_ feel about it?" Albus asked.

Scorpius ran his tongue over the acid ridges in his mouth, feeling the white-hot burn behind his eyes, so he hung his head, shifting his knees to cover his face. How _did_ he feel? Relieved. A little bit ecstatic. Mostly sad, though. No wonder he's adamant on drowning in alcohol just like his father had been for weeks — he barely knew what to feel.

And then he thought about it. How whenever a couple is getting divorced, people have condolences and apologies to the two halves of the relationship. But when your parents are getting divorced, people are quick to say how lucky it must be — having two houses, two rooms, two Christmases, two birthdays, two bank accounts, two _lives_.

All Scorpius wanted to say was he didn't _want_ two of everything. He wanted one.

But how do you tell someone that your heart felt just as broken as your parents? The thing is — you don't.

So he chose to lie. He was good at that, anyway. He took a gulp of the drink, relished in the warmth that settled in his stomach, and then said, "Peachy."

—

Scorpius was back for the Christmas holidays during his seventh year when he realised just how lonely his father had become.

He'd taken to accommodate some harlot in _their_ house — as in the place his mother and his father built _together_. Yet here was a tall ditsy blonde who could barely stand with the length of her heels, sitting in _his mother's_ navy velvet cushion chair. And Scorpius took one look at her, scowled, and saw what his father saw in her — she was the exact opposite of his mother.

The woman had legs for miles and long, luscious hair, while his mother was short (dainty, his father used to say) and barely spent more than the coins in her palm for conditioner. The woman was cold and shrewd and barely smiled unless it was sexually charged. His mother was warm and happy and smiled at his father like he was the sun and she was the planet orbiting him.

And it _disgusted_ him, watching his father's tight grimaces as the woman stroked every part of his body that could be deemed appropriate for the dining table. As soon as her painted red nails slipped under the table, Scorpius bursted out of the room with rage simmering through his entire chest. He breathed heavy, until he felt the taut shirt press up against his chest again and again and again. His fingers wrapped around the fabric on his trousers, palms throbbing with sensation — he made sure he could feel. Something. Anything. 

He couldn't believe this. Here, his father was canoodling with someone else — clearly patching up some hole in his heart — and his mother was too busy pretending as though she wasn't married for sixteen years to a man but rather her job.

He _wanted_ to yell at the world till his lungs disintegrated. He _needed_ to to. He _longed_ to do so. Just so he can shout how much he hated his parents in the present — and not just because he was some antsy teenager.

Scorpius truly despised them at the moment.

Okay. Maybe not them. But their asinine choices.

—

He's seventeen and pissed at his mum for dragging him away from his friends one weekend during Christmas holidays to spend time with her Muggle grandparents.

He couldn't blame her though. Albus' dad said something about losing her parents quite a while back, and she didn't want to go through that heartbreak once more. If only she understood that Scorpius felt the _exact same_ way.

He sat uncomfortably in her silver Mercedes, stretching out his lanky legs to fit securely underneath the dashboard while scowling out the window.

"You know, your face is going to be stuck like that if you keep frowning _that_ passionately," his mother teased from the side, focused on turning left into a side street.

Scorpius quickly turned on her, asking the question that'd been twisting the knife in his heart for days. "Did you love him?"

She didn't pretend to not know who he was talking about. "He's your father. Of course I do."

"You loved him _because_ he's my father?"

"No, Scorpius. I love him because he's _him_. My first love. And you say 'loved' like you're insinuating that it's only in the past. What I feel for him is very much in the present as well."

Scorpius scoffed when he saw the genuine look encompass his mother's face. "So, what? You're going to use that bullshit excuse that you love my dad _but_ you're not in love with him?"

His mother sighed softly, "That's not it either. I'm very much in love with your father."

"And then, what? You just let him gallivant around with some common strumpet now because you're too scared—"

"Don't ever call a woman a strumpet, Scorpius," she said with pursed lips. "Not okay."

"—to do anything about it? You _left_ him, mum. He didn't talk to me for days on end, did you know that? And when he did, he was so fucking upset that he barely acknowledged anyone but himself and me."

His mother toyed with her vermillion lips, clearing her throat slightly. "I'm sorry he didn't speak to you. But you know I was there at the house every single day making sure _you_ were okay. I know things must've been hard for you. I'm sure if the separation was anything like what I felt as well, both you and him would've been torn up, okay?"

"Yeah, I'm _sure_ you felt terrible about it." Scorpius crossed and uncrossed his arms, playing with the hem on his jumper.

"Please don't be like that," was all she said. And suddenly, he wanted to take back all his rash words, toss them out, and cradle his mother to his heart — and say,  _you hurt me too when you left dad. Me. I'm hurting. I'm hurting, Mum._

"Then pray tell, what should I be like?" he snaps, more out of growing anger and a hunger to see her just as hurt as he was than anything. "Happy that you two barely talk unless it's about me? Happy that my father is whoring around? Happy that you're drowning yourself in your work?"

"You think this is easy for me? Looking at you every day and seeing a seventeen-year-old version of your father staring back at me?" his mother shot back, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, but then she retreated into a quiet voice, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lash out. It's just, I — I miss him, Scorpius. If anything, you should know that I do. I know you think I don't, but I do. I always will."

"Then why did you leave him?" he asked instead of the question he desperately clung to — _why did you leave_ us _?_

Yet, even though she didn't hear his actual question, his mother seemed to answer it all the same.

"Because I love the both of you too much to ever see you two hurt again."

—

Scorpius is eighteen and laughing at the Potter's dining table like everything in his heart was healed. Even if it wasn't.

Mrs. Potter had cooked boeuf bourguignon, and it was absolutely splendid. He can't remember the last time he sat down at a table with a family and just lapped up at the conversation. And he realised how much he craved this — being a family, living like one, eating like one.

He had to dab his lips with the corner of his napkin and glance around the warm room to prevent himself from wondering what it would be like if he still had the opportunity to have a meal like this. To be loved like this. With two parents wrapping around his heart and soul, like glue to his cracks.

Albus caught his eye across the table and smirked when he noticed Scorpius' wistful glance on a specific Quidditch trophy — courtesy of the Slytherin's winning streak at their last year in Hogwarts. Scorpius merely made a vulgar gesture back, leaving Albus to stifle his laugh to prevent choking as he took a swig of carrot juice.

"Scorpius, honey," Ginny Potter brought him out of their staring match. "How is living in your new flat going? Hermione told me you just moved in last month."

Scorpius managed to plaster a smile. "It's. . . going, yeah. Who knew it was that hard to cook? Let's just say, I've been having trouble getting the fire alarm to quit beeping after one too many potatoes being burnt in the oven. But the landlord said he's been having problems with the flat itself for a while, anyway."

"And you're probably one of them," Albus shot back with quirked eyebrows.

The table erupted into cheap laughs, leaving Scorpius to feign exasperation, sighing and taking a drink of the butterbeer.

He missed eating as a family.

A lot.

—

He's twenty and watching his father destroy away their old family home like it didn't mean anything. Like their family didn't mean anything.

"So, that's it, then?" Scorpius drawled, watching how his father didn't even flinch from the surprise visit in the house's library.

"Scorpius, what an absolute _pleasure_ to hear from you after six months." His father was good at being cruel when he wanted to be. No tip toeing around that.

"You're tearing down the house?" Scorpius continued, wanting to hear him admit it from his own tongue.

An exasperated sigh. And then, "I am."

"Why?"

"Why would I want to sleep in a bed big enough for two?" he said with more sadness attached to the words than Scorpius ever expected.

"You never have a problem filling that space, anyway," Scorpius replied with a certain amount of coolness attached, as though he was goading his father to finally admitting that — _yes_ , he did take quite a lot of women into his bed after his mother left.

His father abruptly turned around, matching slate eyes flaring with derision. He watched the older copy of him roll his neck out and cuff his sleeves to his elbows, as if preparing for battle. It was would be funny to watch if the air wasn't filled with so much tension between them.

"How's your mother?" he finally prodded with a blank face. His father blinked, and Scorpius saw the brief gleam of love glare back at him with intensity. It was gone just as quick in the next blink. Emotions of his were always fleeting. His father was also good at impassiveness, it seemed. 

"Doing well." His father didn't need to know that Scorpius held her through tears when she found out _their_ house was being demolished in order to be built over. "I'll tell her you inquired."

Scorpius nodded once more and turned on his heels to leave the library he used to spend lazy Sunday mornings reading pop-up books with his parents snuggling by his side.

"Wait." Scorpius froze. "I — I want you to know that I'm sorry."

_Sorry for hurting Mum? Sorry for hurting him? Sorry for being a terrible person with a tendency to push away people he loved?_

For what, Scorpius didn't know. His father never was terribly good with words. His mother always did the talking. But Scorpius didn't want to ask. He didn't want to have to nurse another open wound clawing at his chest. He briefly glanced down, wondering if he could see the blood already dripping down his heart, soaking his cream shirt whole.

Scorpius simply nodded once, keeping his back stiff, before walking away from his childhood home without another look back.

—

He's twenty-three and at his best-friend-and-maybe-something-more sister's wedding. Scorpius was chugging down glasses of sparkling pomegranate and apple cider — they're free, so why the hell not? — when he scoped around the ballroom with interest.

The ceilings were opulent, decked with luscious gold scaffoldings and robin egg's blue detailing. Oil paintings of the precious couple — because when a Potter and Weasley came together, it was like the rain clouds had disappeared, apparently — lined the entrance in different poses, depicting their very sappy relationship. Scorpius couldn't help but smirk at that, downing yet another glass of cider. He realised years ago that alcohol just didn't fill the cracks like he wanted it to. So, cider it was.

He gestured to the waiter to come around with another tray to grab a flute of the addicting ambrosia of cider. Trust the waiter to know his name by now. He was _surely_ his best customer.

Scorpius sank back in his chair, watching his mother talk to Mister Potter with the same amount of vibrance he imagined her to have as a teenager. She looked gorgeous and relaxed for the first time in ages. But Hermione Granger was always one for putting up barriers, though, he thought. If it meant the world wasn't privy to her insecurities, she'd dab a bit of eyeshadow and paint on a smile. But by the end of the night, his mother was always a bit cracked at the edges anyway. He just wanted to wait till tonight was over, and see if her new persona was just because his father brought a date.

He snapped his neck to watch his father in the same way, scowling at the hand wrapped around some flavour of the week. Apparently old money, even at an old age, was still popular. Ugh. He felt nauseated. And it wasn't the excess amount of cider churning in his stomach. But his father's eyes were trained on his mother just as intensely as she was speaking to Albus' father. He barely wavered his gaze, even when his date tried to speak to him.

And Scorpius wanted to laugh till his stomach turned in and his heart clenched because it's tragic. The way the man pined and longed for his ex-wife is _tragic_. And the way his mother pined right back was even more so.

Hours later, Scorpius leaned his temple on Albus' shoulder, watching the mingling of crowds die down and the amber candle-glow of the chandelier encompass the room. And he watched how his mother slipped out of her ebony kitten heels, and he watched how his father had draped his cloak on his chair.

And then he watched their trembling hands find each other in the middle of the dance floor, like two opposite ends of a magnet attracted to each other, despite the distance. _'For old times' sake, Granger?'_ his father probably joked before offering his hand. Her ear hovered over his heart — the one that was so desperately beating for _her_ and _only_ her — on his chest, her eyes squeezed shut and her arms wrapped around his waist. And his milky cheek nuzzled against her hair, his arms holding her delicately and his finger tracing her spine, up and down and up and down.

They weren't so much as dancing, rather than hugging and swaying to the soft music. He hadn't seen his father so gentle and loving in years. And he hadn't seen his mother so filled to the brim with completion in years, either. They looked like the epitome of a couple in love. No one who didn't know them personally would ever guess they had years of a scarred relationship on their back.

They fit each other like puzzle pieces. Two sides of a coin. The right side to counter the left. Yet, they couldn't be the farthest away from each other. And it fucking _hurt_.

"They were so in love," Albus broke the silence softly. He doesn't need to clarify who he's talking about. Everyone already knew.

Yeah, they were.

But anyone with two eyes and half a brain can see that—

They still _are_.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you liked this, wee. also because the ending is very open (bc I hate sad endings, sue me), I wonder if anyone who reads this thinks d/hr get together again or stay separated? what are your thoughts on it? i'd love to hear :)!


End file.
